


Hots on For Nowhere

by doctorcakeray



Series: Put your records on, tell me your favorite song [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Episode Related, Episode s08e20: Pac-Man Fever, Episode: s08e21 The Great Escapist, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Making Out, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorcakeray/pseuds/doctorcakeray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a day that both very happy and incredibly frustrating, because that's what family does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hots on For Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Titled after this Led Zeppelin song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGuIVvfr4ig

 

When Dean finally wakes up fully, he’s not terribly surprised to find himself tucked into Castiel, both of the angel’s arms wrapped solidly around him.

“Morning,” he says, once Cas shows no signs of letting go.

“Barely,” Cas replies.  “It’s 10:47.”

“It was a late night,” Dean replies, belatedly realizing that he buried his face in Cas’s shoulder as he said those words.

“Very,” Cas says simply, and starts running his hands up and down Dean’s back.  The motion makes it very hard for Dean think about getting up.

“I need to take a shower,” Dean says, very carefully not thinking about how reluctant he is to disentangle himself from the bedsheets and Cas’s trenchcoat and Cas.  “You wanna go see what Sam is up to?”

After Dean gets out of the shower, he finds Sam and Cas sitting at the wide table topped with a map of the world.  Not that he can really see the map, as Sam and Cas both have large books cracked open over its surface.

“What’re you looking at?” Dean asks, careful of his bathrobe as he sits down.

“Some old demon lore,” Sam says, turning a page.  With his other hand, he takes a spoonful of parfait from a clear glass.  Dean notices Cas has a similar glass, layered with granola and pale yogurt and nearly purple blueberries.  As Dean watches, Cas places a dollop of yogurt in his mouth, and then appears to concentrate very hard.  Dean can’t particularly tell if Cas is perplexed by the words in front of him or the tangy taste of the yogurt.

Dean nudges Cas’s shoulder.  “Since when do you eat?”

“Mmm,” Cas hums.  “I still don’t need to, but Sam said you made these.”

Dean shrugs, doesn’t mention that parfaits were one of a dozen things Dean made when he couldn’t get Sam to eat for days at a time.  He coughs to clear his throat.  “Well, enjoy your hippie food, I’m going to go make a real breakfast, put on coffee.”

“Coffee?” Cas asks.

Dean squints at him.  “What, you want a cup?”

Cas nods.  “You’re going to cook?”

“Yeah, pancakes, bacon, eggs, you know.  Sam, do you want anything?”

Sam chews on the end of a pencil he’d started scratching with, leaves and scraps of paper tucked into his book.  “Are you going to make buttermilk pancakes?”

Dean snorts.  “Do you want yours all girlied up with whipped cream, too?”

Sam frowns. “Jerk,” he bites out, then studiously ignores Dean for his book.

It’s not particularly surprising that Cas follows Dean into the kitchen without a word.  Dean goes about setting up the coffee maker.  Once that’s done, he pulls down flour, sugar, and some mixing bowls from the shelves, fetches eggs, milk, and butter from the fridge.  He’s just started mixing the dry ingredients when Cas’s hand comes to rest at the small of his back.  Dean’s hand slips and spattering of flour spills over the side of the bowl.  Dean evens out the bowl’s contents again, and resumes mixing.

“Brewing coffee smells nice,” Cas observes.

“Suppose so,” Dean says.  “You like coffee now?”

“I drank it enough times to acquire the taste.”

“So what?  You like burgers, booze, and coffee now?”

“And parfaits,” Cas adds.

Dean lightly jabs Cas with his elbow.  “You had, what, three bites of parfait?  That is not enough to acquire a taste.”

“Well then, I’ll correct the statement,” Cas considers for a moment.  “I like food that you’ve made and food that I’ve acquired a taste for.”

“You’re doing food wrong,” Dean snipes.  He’s finally beaten the batter smooth, and watches some of it drip off the whisk into the bowl before he flicks the implement at Cas.

Cas looks back at Dean, confused as he uses the heel of his palm to wipe the batter from where it spattered on his cheek.  Once he’s worked it out of his stubble, he grins.

“What’re you smiling for?” Dean asks.

“You smiled first,” Cas informs him.  “Why did you smile?”

Dean grunts a non-answer and focuses on getting the griddle warming up and finding a clean plate and a spatula.  Pretty soon the kitchen smells of warm butter, the scent wafting with the rich smell of the coffee, and shortly after that the greasy smell of sizzling bacon joins them.

We Dean and Cas take out heaping plates and cups of coffee to where Sam is still reading, Sam determinedly does not smile at the whipped cream and sliced strawberries and bananas on his stack of pancakes, but the skin around his eyes crinkles up in spite of his pursed mouth.

Dean’s at the sink later, washing dishes, when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.  He quickly wipes his hands off on a dish towel before he fishes out his phone and looks at the caller ID.

“I worry about you,” Charlie says without introduction.  “Trials and everything.  I’m thinking about starting to call you every day to make sure you’re okay.”

“And what?” Dean jibes.  “You gonna come to our rescue if we’re not?”

“Would you make fun of me if I said, ‘yes’?”  The annoyance in Charlie’s voice is clear, and Dean can imagine the exact way her nose scrunches up as she forces the words out.

“Nah,” Dean says lightly.  “It might be a good idea.”

“Good handmaidens are so hard to come by these days,” Charlie says, “And you’re at least halfway decent.”

“Thanks,” Dean says dryly.  He coughs lightly before he casually chokes out the words, “So, uh, Cas isn’t MIA anymore.”

“What?” Charlie prompts.  “Is he—are you—?”

“We’re fine,” Dean says.  “Mostly.  Yesterday was a rough day.”

“I’m going to start calling you _three_ times a day.  Spill.  Or should I just come over?”

“Don’t you have a job?  In Michigan?”

“Tomorrow is Friday,” Charlie says.  “I can take off, be on a plane tonight.”

“Charlie, it isn’t necessary to—”

“One,” Charlie interrupts, “I’m worried about you, deal with it.  Two, I want to meet an angel.  You own me that much after you cockblocked me from getting with a fairy.  Never letting go of that, by the way.”

“Cas isn’t just—”

“Dean,” Charlie says, more patiently this time, “I want to meet your friend.”

Dean picks up one of the kitchen knives he just finished drying, tracing the ridges in the handle grip with his thumb while he holds his phone to ear with his other hand.  “Um, sure,” he says, doesn’t say, _I’d like that_.  He fumbles for a moment before trying to add, “Cas, he’s a little, he behaves like—”

“I’m sure,” Charlie says flippantly.  “Anyone who is friends with you is a weirdo.”

“Then what does that say about you?” Dean asks.

“I’m the Queen of Weirdos,” Charlie says.  “See you soon, bitch.  Love.”  The line cuts off.

“Well, then,” Dean says to himself, and then finishes up the last couple of the dishes before he goes to tell Sam they’ll have company later, and that if he doesn’t take a break from reading he’s going to strain his eyes.  Sammy takes a twenty second break to glare at Dean.

Cas, on the other hand, appears to be clicking through youtube videos on Sammy’s laptop.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks as he leans over Cas’s shoulder.

“This is a lot like TV,” Cas replies.

“If you’re going to watch something, you should at least watch something good,” Dean sighs.  “Speaking of which, Sammy, you should—”

Sam flaps his hand at Dean without looking up.  “If you even _try_ to convince me that watching a video will be better for my eyes that reading…”

“Way to bitch, Sam.” Dean rolls his eyes.  “C’mon, Cas, give me the computer.  And Sam, at least take a nap at some point.” Sam grumbles back what might be “fine” and “go away.”

That’s how, five minutes later and still thinking about the last time he saw Charlie, Dean guides Cas to one of the Men of Letters’ old leather couches and puts on _Star Wars: A New Hope_.

Because Dean cannot have a completely quiet afternoon, they make it through three rounds of popcorn and halfway through _The Empire Strikes Back_ before a flap of wings and Kevin and Metatron suddenly _exist_ ten feet from Dean and Cas.

This, of course, also happens to be fifteen minutes after Dean put his arm over Cas’s shoulders and Cas tilted his head against Dean’s chest, an action that definitely had Cas slouching a foot down the couch, relaxed in a way Dean rarely saw.

Kevin mostly looks surprised to see Cas, and Dean is a little bit busy yelling indignantly at Metatron.

“I’m pretty sure the only way in here is supposed to be through the front door,” Dean snaps.  “If you erased our warding—”

Metatron holds up his hands placatingly.  “I put everything back as it was.”

“Good,” Dean grits out.  “What’s going on?”

“I need to talk to Sam about the trials,” Kevin says quickly.  “I’ve been reading the demon tablet and talking to Metatron—”

“You’ve touched the angel tablet,” Metatron suddenly, looking at Castiel.

Castiel nods slowly.

“We should talk,” Metatron says, and then they both vanish.

“Son of bitch,” Dean exhales.  He closes the laptop and stands up, throws a light punch into Kevin’s shoulder.  “C’mon, let’s find my brother and then we can tablet talk.”

Sitting with Kevin and Sam and talking about demon bombs and the Gates of Hell while Cas and Metatron are off discussing God-knows-what, Dean finds himself fervently wishing Charlie was there already.

Two hours later, it occurs to Dean to ask Kevin what he’s eaten that day.  Kevin looks back at him blankly.

Dean groans.  “Don’t tell me Metatron doesn’t have the sense to remember to feed and water you.  Friggin’ angels.  Friggin’ you.  You’re sleeping now, right?”

“I’m fine,” Kevin says, “really. I am.”

He says it with enough conviction that, damnit, Dean believes him, but he still pushes his chair back and gets up, because apparently he is the only one that seems to remember that humans need to eat.

Dean’s shaping hamburger patties and waiting on rising dough when Charlie finally, finally calls.

“Guess who’s outside?” she says chipperly as soon as Dean picks up.  “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“One moment, Your Majesty.”

Dean catches Sam’s attention long enough that that Sam trails after him up the stairs.  As soon as the door opens, Charlie hugs them each in rapid fire succession.

Once she’s on the ground floor, Kevin looks up and asks, “Who’s that?”

“Polite, this one is,” Charlie says to Dean, inclining her head to Kevin.

“Charlie, this is Kevin, the prophet,” Dean picks up.  “Kevin, this is Charlie, she helped us find the Leviathan tablet last year.”

“Oh,” Kevin says.  “Yeah, the world would have ended without that thing.”

“Props to me,” Charlie says.  “So, you like—”

“Read the word of God.  Yeah.”

“Cool story, bro.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Charlie bumps Dean with her shoulder.  “So where’s the rest of the party?”

“Cas is somewhere off talking with Metatron, or something,” Dean says.

“He’ll be back soon,” Sam says.

Charlie jumps at a sudden fluttering sound, and Dean doesn’t even have to turn around to know Cas is standing right behind him.

“He has a tendency to suddenly show up when Dean, specifically Dean, says his name,” Sam adds smoothly.

“Awesome,” Charlie says, and Dean decides that Charlie is his favorite person in the room and that he might want to punch Sam in the face.  Just a little.

“Hello,” Cas says.

“Hi, I’m Charlie.  You must be Castiel.”  Charlie completely bypasses the notion of sticking out her hand politely, instead grabbing one of Cas’s hands in both of hers and shaking it excitedly.  “I’ve read all about you.”

“What?” Cas says.

Dean rubs at his temples.  He can feel a headache coming on.  “Apparently Chuck published up until the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t.  So you’re in the books now, too.”

“Ah,” Cas says, looking like he has a sour taste in his mouth.  “I think I now understand why you were upset about the existence of that series.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Charlie says, unzipping her backpack and, very unfortunately, pulling out her tablet.  “Here, I can show you.”

Cas looks on in interest as the tablet turns on, and Dean gives up and decides that at least he can go finish cooking dinner.

Charlie joins him later, he assumes once she’s gotten Cas set up reading.  She doesn’t say anything, just watches him for a minute, and then rifles through his kitchen until she finds some onions, tomatoes, and cheese, and starts slicing.

Later, when Dean smacks Charlie’s hand as she steals a chunk of just cooked burger and pops into her mouth, they’re both laughing, and if either of them have watery eyes, they’re blaming it on the onions.

Charlie and Dean collectively get everyone to sit around one of the study tables, Charlie winking at Dean has she stands behind Sam and snatches a book right out of his hands.

Kevin and Sam work on their meals at a respectable pace, Metatron stares at the offered burger questioningly, and Cas practically inhales his, and then immediately looks down at his plate in concern.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

“How many burgers did you make, Dean?” Cas asks gravely.

Dean can’t decide if he should laugh or groan.  Charlie catches his eye, and he can see her grin splitting her face.  “So the books got it right,” she says cheerfully, “Cas likes burgers?”

“My vessel—” Cas starts, and then stops as Metatron puts his plate in front of Cas.

Dean rolls his eyes.  “Don’t worry, you can have a couple more.”  Cas eats his second burger more slowly, stopping halfway through to grin wide at Dean.

Cas and Sam collect the plates once everyone’s finished.  Charlie burps, once, and slouches back in her chair.  “What are you doing?” she asks as Kevin stands.

“Sam and I have a lot more work—”

“After dinner is bonding time,” Charlie says.  “We should hang out, get to know each other.”

“I really don’t—”

“Hey, Metatron,” Charlie says, “Can you use your angel mojo to help me fetch some things from my local apartment?”

“I don’t see why not,” Metatron replies.

That’s how, fifteen minutes later, Charlie is setting up a fifty-two inch monitor, surround sound, and several console systems in the bunker.  Dean helps her plug in cables while Sam looks on, more than slightly baffled.

As soon as everything is working correctly, she herds them onto one couch and hands out four controllers.  “I’m going to introduce you to the glory of _Warhawk_ ,” she informs them.

Thirty minutes later, Cas is banned from playing, after alternating between being preternaturally good (angel reflexes), and complaining about how his avatar cannot study every inch of the map as quickly as he would be able too, and spending all his time meticulously exploring anyway.

He doesn’t seem to be too upset about being relegated to watching from the floor and using one of Dean’s legs as a backrest.

An hour later, Kevin shouts at Sam, “I was going for that plane, fucker!” and Sam smirks back, “Too bad, I got there first.”  Charlie is watching them proudly, and Dean feels light and warm.

Sam makes it nearly to midnight before his head starts nodding, and Dean informs everyone that it’s time for them to all get some shut-eye.  They’ve got enough beds and couches for everyone, and Metatron takes a stack of books into the kitchen to read all night.  Everyone else is tucked by the time Dean heads back to his room, Cas trailing behind him.

Dean tosses a pillow onto the bed, an extra one he grabbed while setting everyone up.  Dean looks down at the bed, scratching the back of his neck with one hand.  “So, um, are you watching over me again tonight?”

“Yes,” Cas answers.

“Well, then.” Dean coughs.  He rummages around in his dresser for some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, then holds them out to Cas.  “People usually wear pajamas in bed.  So.”  Cas plucks the clothes from Dean’s hands.  Dean’s just sliding his jeans off when he looks up to see Cas already in the baggy clothes.  “That’s cheating, using your angel juice to change clothes.”  Cas rolls his eyes at Dean, and then crawls into bed.  Dean climbs in after him.  He thinks for a moment about tucking his head under Cas’s chin, curling in close.  It had been so easy last night, but now he flounders.  “Uh, good night, Ca—”

Dean finds himself abruptly unable to make any noise, because Cas is suddenly on top of him, one leg smoothly settling in between Dean’s, and an arm braced by Dean’s face.  Cas brings his other hand to wrap around the base of Dean’s skull, his thumb brushing over the short hairs there.  Dean pushes into the touch instinctively, his back arching and pressing his body against Cas’s.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks breathlessly.

“What do you want me to do?” Cas asks in his even, rumbling voice.

Dean gapes like a fish for a moment, and then finds himself blurting out, “I thought about you while I was jerking off in the shower this morning.”

“I’m a celestial being, Dean,” Castiel says patiently.  “I could hear you.”

“Oh,” Dean says, dumbly.  “So you know.”

“Yes,” Cas says, bringing his thumb up to trace Dean’s jawline.

Dean can feel his face getting hot, so before his throat gets too tight to speak, he asks, “What do you want?”

When Cas leans down to press their lips together, Dean his glad that Cas found a way to answer without any more words.  Dean wraps one arm low on Cas’s waist, the other presses between his shoulderblades to push them closer together.  He traces the tip of his tongue over the seam of Cas’s mouth.  Cas’s fingers span wide over the back of Dean’s skull, angling his head while Cas opens his mouth.  Cas’s tongue slides against Dean’s, a slippery wet heat and Dean tingles everywhere they’re touching, dizzy with it and glad he’s not on his feet, belatedly remembering to take a deep breath through his nose.

Cas breaks the kiss, saliva damp lips pressing across Dean’s cheek, mouthing along the underside of his jaw as Dean tilts his chin up.

“What do you want?” Cas asks again, the words ghosting over Dean’s throat.

The words tumble out easily, as if Cas’s lips on Dean’s neck keep his throat loose.  “This,” Dean says.  “You.”

Cas makes a contented murmur against Dean’s skin.  Dean tangles his fingers in Cas’s forever askew hair and drags him back into a kiss.  When he nips at Cas’s lower lip, Cas groans in approval.  Dean sucks the flesh into his mouth, rolls his tongue over it.  One of Cas’s hands slips in under Dean’s shirt, blunt fingernails scraping skin lightly before Cas’s hand wraps around his side, pressing Dean further into the bed.

Dean shudders, tilts away from the kiss to breathe.  Cas keeps kissing Dean, his lips trailing over Dean’s cheekbone to his temple, to his forehead, one feather light kiss to each of Dean’s eyelids.

A hand tugs up at the hem of his shirt, and Dean looks up to meet Castiel gazing intently at him.  “May I?” Cas asks, and tugs again.  Dean nods.

Sometimes, Dean forgets exactly how effortlessly strong Cas is, as he finds himself sitting up in bed through no action of his own, Cas stripping off Dean’s shirt before settling him back against the pillows and soft sheets.  Cas’s mouth follows Dean down, lips exploring the groove of his collarbone.

“What you like?” Cas asks.  “Tell me.”

Dean cups a hand behind Cas’s head, guiding gently down until Cas’s lips brush against a nipple, and then he pulls in.  Cas catches on quickly, opening his moist mouth and stroking a tongue wide and flat over the bud of flesh.  Dean moans, winces when teeth scrape over his skin and he tries to press Cas closer.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, and then Cas moves up to drape his body over Dean’s again, interlaces his fingers into one of Dean’s hands, and takes Dean’s open mouth with his.

“I could do this—” Cas says between kisses, “—all night.  I would be quite pleased to.”

“Cas,” Dean groans.  He tries to put in a note of reproving, but his voice is shaking too much for it.  “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” Cas asks, running his fingertips over Dean’s flank.  Dean shivers again.  “I like touching you.”

Dean has had less trouble breathing when he’s had the wind punched out of him.  “Cas, I—I mean sometime, yeah, I would, it’s I, you know….and you, and sleep is a—”

“Dean,” Cas says firmly, interrupting Dean’s babbling.  “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” Dean says plainly, blinking up at Cas, and he feels naked in so many ways besides missing a shirt.

Cas looks down at Dean like he’s insufferable and like that is exactly why Cas is so fond of him.  “You have me,” Cas states like a fact, like he won’t vanish in the next moment and they won’t be dead tomorrow.

“You can’t make promises like that.”  Dean’s voice cracks.

“I’ll make it anyway,” Cas says.  “Dean, you have me.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, swears in his head that he’s not about to cry, that he’s not shaking in Cas’s arms.  When Cas rolls them over, Dean stops swearing in his head, he presses the thoughts out in the way he kisses Cas.  Cas’s hands are running up and down Dean’s back, gently stroking until Dean stops shaking and collapses, burying his face against Cas’s chest.  Dean feels the press of lips to his hair.

“I love you,” Cas says.  “I’ve loved you for some time now.  I wanted you to know.”

Cas’s arms are wrapped loosely around Dean.  Dean nestles in close like he wanted to earlier, tucks his nose against the hinge of Cas’s jaw.  Dean hopes it’s a good enough answer.  It’s an honest one.

Cas turns enough that Dean settles mostly onto the bed, tucks the blankets and an arm around him while the other hand goes into his hair, massaging at his scalp in a way that makes Dean’s entire body slack within moments.

“I’m happiest when you’re around,” Dean whispers.  Cas’s hand keeps moving in his hair, and Dean falls asleep like that.


End file.
